stone. Sea swirls all
around, edged with cappuccino foam.
To hesitate is to fall.
My footing unsteady, but the view
tempting.
So I pause, just for a moment.
In the distance Jura, Islay
And Northern Ireland.
So close, yet too far to reach
by stones. Besides, socks are wet.
Water over black rocks,
over shoes.
Cannot go visiting with wet shoes and socks.
I look back to sugary sand.
Water has begun to claim the beach.
So I turn, stepping stone to
stone.
© The Dishonest Woman
